


three hands, two hearts, can't lose

by aweekofsaturdays



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, M/M, Napping, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9833588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: Brendan breaks his wrist in the middle of the season and Alex helps him not end up on Deadspin hopped up on painkillers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've just been calling this "Brendan's sad broken wrist fic" lol so I figured this title is at least slightly better. Enjoy :)
> 
> As always, this story is about fictional characters and has no bearing on or relation to anything in real life.

Brendan takes a puck to the wrist and he knows it’s over, for now. You play for a year or three in the NHL and you get start to get used to the pain, but there’s something different when it’s gonna be a big one and you just know, deep in your bones. 

They ice him up and give him good drugs for the pain, and he’s bandaged and splinted and everything else they want to do to him before they’ll let him go anywhere. He doesn’t know who’ll be coming to take him home but someone will, he’s the baby still really, someone’ll come get him-- and he looks up and it’s _Chuckie_ and he’s never been so happy to see anyone in his life, the joy blooming in his chest and grumpy Chuckie startles into a little smile at the undoubtedly crazy grin stretching wide across Brendan’s face.

“What did they give you? You’re never this happy to see me,” Alex grumbles, and Brendan grins even wider.

“I’m always happy to see you, Chuck,” Brendan says earnestly, and Alex laughs at him for the next two hours straight. 

*** 

The drugs have mostly worn off and his wrist is starting to throb again when Brendan wakes up a few hours after they get home, wondering where he is. He winces at the pain and stumbles out of what ends up being his own bed, wandering to the kitchen for some Gatorade. 

Rummaging through the fridge, Brendan almost has a heart attack when he shuts it and Alex is standing there, rubbing an eye and wearing sweatpants that are entirely too short for him and hang low on his hips.

Brendan’s breath stops for a second, half because of pure pants-shitting fear, and half because Alex is soft like this, grey t-shirt clinging to his shoulders and hair mussed with sleep. 

Recovering, Brendan clutches a hand to his chest and swears jokingly, then swears again as a stab of pain goes through his heavily bandaged arm, and Alex looks alarmed, hands coming up as if to catch Brendan if needed, hovering but not touching. 

“Are.. um. Are you ok? Are you still stoned?”

Jesus christ, his wrist hurts. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house, Chuckie?” Brendan asks, impatient.

Alex grumbles, “That’s not my fucking name, _Brendan_.” 

Brendan rolls his eyes, but hands the bottle he’s holding to Alex, a peace offering. Alex takes it, eyeing Brendan warily. 

“I’m in your house because no one wants to see your drugged-up sleepwalking ass end up on Deadspin, ok? You’re welcome.” 

“All right, all right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, give me a little credit for being terrified when a hulking Russian pops outta nowhere in my house in the middle of the fuckin night.” 

Brendan tries to hang onto his huffiness but can’t hold the serious face and breaks into a grin, opening the fridge to grab another bottle for himself and swearing again as he forgets and his wrist twinges. 

“Will you stop fucking doing that?” Alex says, exasperated, and reaches into the fridge himself, and Brendan’s close enough to smell his deodorant and the locker room shampoo in his hair and it rolls over him like a wave, the familiarity of it, how easy it is to recognize. He shakes his head at himself -- maybe he is still a little stoned. And Alex let the Russian thing go, that’s not like him. Huh.

Alex gives him a weird look as he pulls back, hesitating just close enough to Brendan, like he’s gonna ask a question, but Alex shakes his head and retreats to the couch. 

They watch something nonsensical on late-night TV, a rerun of some home improvement show or other, Brendan’s not really paying attention. He’s still a little loopy and dizzy and his arm hurts like hell, so when he sits next to Alex he keeps going, lying down and putting his head on Alex’s lap. He thinks he’s gonna get a smack upside the head and an eye-roll, but instead he feels fingers gently brushing through his hair and before he can process his surprise, he’s asleep. 

****

Brendan swims his way to groggy consciousness reluctantly. He opens his eyes blearily, left cheek hot and a little sore where he apparently fell asleep on Alex’s leg, and his right shoulder heavy and warm where Alex has one big hand wrapped around it. It’s barely morning, light just starting to edge in through the window, and Alex is passed out leaning back against the couch, curved slightly sideways over Brendan and breathing slowly. 

Brendan shifts a little, unthinking, and he see the moment Alex wakes up, barely blinking into consciousness before confusedly looking down at him. It’s dorky as hell and kind of cute, the way Alex smacks his lips and takes a deep breath, shifting but not straightening as he takes in Brendan looking back at him. 

They sit there for a long moment, just looking at each other in the pale light, and Brendan allows himself to feel soft, fond, in a way he’s familiar with from Chuckie in general, but in this context...it feels a lot different. Luckily, his wrist reminds him of his current predicament with a heavy throb, and he clutches at it and whines until Alex shoves him off (gently) to go find his painkillers. 

****

Breakfast gets scrounged from the odds and ends in Brendan’s fridge, Alex tossing eggs and turkey bacon into a pan, shooing Brendan away from the inevitable grease fire that will erupt if Gally’s allowed anywhere near it. 

They maneuver around each other a little awkwardly, drifting in and out of each other’s orbits, quiet and gregarious in turns as Brendan chirps Alex’s bacon-frying methods and Alex swats at him negligently, like he’s a puppy underfoot. They keep running into each other and Brendan laughs it off as nothing, but he keeps catching Alex _blushing_ , looking away and hanging his head a little to hide his flush. 

Brendan tries to help with dishes afterwards but he keeps hurting himself because he isn’t used to only having the one hand, and while he feels annoyingly sober and sore, he’s still a little uncoordinated. Mouth open in what’s about to be a frustrated huff, Brendan turns around to complain and jumps a little, because suddenly his whole field of vision is full of enormous and stealthy hockey player, and before he can flail too hard and fall over, Alex’s big hands go around his waist to steady him. 

It’s weird to be standing in the kitchen with your best bro touching you and not letting go when he’s probably supposed to, but Brendan stands there with a towel in one hand and doesn’t move away, and when he doesn’t, Alex leans in closer. Brendan sees the kiss coming (if he admits it to himself, maybe he’s seen it coming for a lot longer), and yet still somehow it’s a surprise when Alex presses a soft kiss to his lips, a “hello, I’m here” kiss more than anything else. 

They pull away and Brendan knows this is it, has known it for months and it took this stupid injury to make him see it, and while his eyes are still closed, he sinks into it in his heart and just...doesn’t run away. Like he could, like he probably should, like he’s done a thousand times before with a thousand other people. Instead, Brendan just opens his eyes and looks at Alex standing there, tentative and soft, his thumbs ghosting over Brendan’s hipbones, and he’s so steady. Brendan’s said nothing so far and yet Alex just waits, slow and sure. 

Something clicks in Brendan’s mind, watching Alex standing there so patiently, heart in hands, and Brendan just falls right off the cliff, following his heart on the way over the edge. He grabs Alex by the back of his neck with his good hand and kisses him _hard_ , a real, I’ve-been-waiting-for-you, I-want-to-kiss-you-forever kiss, sweet and deep like he’s never wanted to kiss anyone before in his life. Alex smiles into the kiss and gives back as good as he gets, his scruff scratchy against Brendan’s jaw in counterpoint to the softness of his lips, and he wraps his arms around Brendan’s waist like he’s never gonna let go. Suddenly Alex _lifts_ and he sits Brendan’s ass on the counter, making him taller than Alex for once and Brendan relishes the opportunity to lean forward, press hard, kiss him thoroughly, possessively. 

They kiss for what feels like hours but is probably not remotely that long, and when Brendan comes up for air, Alex’s eyes are hazy and soft, mouth red and plush and open. 

“I didn’t think you would,” Alex says, quietly. “I didn’t think you’d want me.”

Brendan snorts even as his heart aches at the admission. “Selling yourself short there, bud,” he jokes, but for once in his life he knows he’s got a moment here on a knife’s edge, that this could go either way, that he could break something irreparably or make something last for himself, for them, that could be the beginning of everything. 

He looks away at first but steels himself to look back at Alex, who looks so devastatingly good when he’s well-kissed. 

“I want you,” Brendan says frankly. “And I want to figure this out with you.”

Alex smiles, relieved, the tension leaving his shoulders where Brendan hadn’t really seen it. But how couldn’t Brendan want this, when Alex looks at him the way he is now? How could Alex not be sure of that? 

Brendan leans forward to kiss him again, hungrily, wrapping his legs around Alex’s middle, and he doesn’t know where the urge comes from but he doesn’t want to fight it so he snakes his good arm around Alex in a bear hug, burying his face in crook of Alex’s neck and clinging on so tightly he hopes his body will freeze this way and he’ll never have to let go. Neither of them say anything, they just hold on to each other and breathe, and Alex smooths a palm over his back gently, waiting him out.

They finally pull back and Brendan is a little mortified to find that he’s tearing up a little, but Alex just laughs and rubs Brendan’s shoulders, tugging him off the counter gently.

“Come on, let’s go play xbox and make out some more,” Alex offers, smiling openly, and Brendan grins. Alex thinks he’s going to have an easy win, what with Brendan’s one-handed capabilities at the moment, but Alex is about to get blown _away_.

**Author's Note:**

> The Russia thing is that A Gally was born in the US but lived in Russia for a while and has a Russian accent, but he plays for team USA and he and Brendan (who plays for Team Canada) have a funny rivalry about it. Brendan teases him by calling him Russian and Alex is like *angry baby bear ACTIVATE* "I am AMERICAN OK"
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you like these idiots as much as I do :)


End file.
